Yesterday I was so tired after my long train journey, the only thing I could do was have a bath and go to bed. I left all my suitcases open on the floor, and slept quickly. I didn’t set an alarm and I didn’t put the window shade over the door to the balcony, I never do. I love waking up with the sun, even if I’ve hardly slept that night.
Luckily this morning, I woke not too long after the sun did. Half asleep, I lifted my head to see what colour the horizon was. The room glowed blue, as the sky started to reveal her colours… and then I saw it: a bright yellow line. So bright it almost looked white. I rubbed my eyes and decided to sit up and watch. Yellow, orange, pink… there were no clouds in the sky this morning, so the sunrise was simple and pure. The buildings in front of me started to appear incandescent, the trees still formed a dark silhouette of jagged edges against the skyline. I took a deep breath in and out… I’m here. I’m home.
An empty one. I didn’t bother to shop for food the night before, but I did bring coffee from Taiwan. I dug into my suitcases and got what I needed. The coffee, and a mug that I had bought from Montenegro a couple years ago (I had found it in my old luggage). I started what will probably become my daily routine… turned the kettle on, brushed my teeth and then prepared my first coffee of the day. Steam carrying the smell of coffee began to fill the apartment as I poured the hot water through the paper strainer. I had no milk, but that didn’t matter.
Then I sat and continued to watch the view light up before my eyes. It was a scene I had experienced many times before… a slight chill in the air, the sound of pigeons softly humming… red tile roofs, creamy rendered walls, old wooden shutters still closed. Chimney flues sticking up like little houses, capped with their own red tiles… some of them were already releasing pale white clouds of smoke, dissipating into the fresh morning air. I laugh to myself. This place has a style all of her own. Before long, there would be a soft breeze floating in from the sea.
I didn’t feel anything special. No fireworks, no excitement and no melancholy… just peace. That feeling of coming home, reorganising yourself, and settling into an old routine. As I was milling around in the morning, putting things away, I realised that home is not where you want to stay, but it’s where you always want to come back to.
That’s how I feel about the southeast coast of France. Even though I’ve always stayed somewhere different here, somehow it always feels like I’m coming back to a place that I know and who knows me. For so long I’ve tried to settle more permanent roots here, but then it hit me – I didn’t need to try. What could be more permanent than a love story? I always come back here. There is no chain… no obligation, burden or responsibility that ties me here. I am in love with this place, and so I will always return. It’s the love I’ve always wanted: faithful, passionate, devoted, free.
I realise that maybe things don’t need to be planned in life… maybe planning too much for the future is a form of hanging on to something out of fear. Maybe it’s safe to just go with the flow and what’s meant to stay will stay, what’s meant to come back will come back. Maybe the less I fight the flow, the more I welcome what I want into my life. I don’t need to find home… home always finds me.
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